The stroll outside the guild was uninterrupted, but the assiduous commuters on the streets forced us to take a few detours just to reach the street opposite the tavern. The men never followed, and I knew they wouldn’t, for they might already have others waiting inside the tavern. This was an ideal scenario since we had a lead for the first time.

Helping out mortals didn’t sit right with me as always, but since my lady didn’t have any opposition, I would gladly cast away my pitiful pride. I was uncool in every worst possible way a mortal could imagine, but I wasn’t here to cater to their needs, and I didn’t really care how mortals judged me. Their verdict of normal changes every few centuries, so the so-called ‘prodigious’ and ‘amazing’ statuses of currently accepted standards will be flushed out in time. Humans were fickle creatures, whether in the short or long term.

The tavern adorned a grimy appearance from the outside, and my lady found it repulsive, partly for ale and mostly for the dingy appearance. The western corridor marred with spiders was many times better than the sticky goo creeping the walls beside the springing entrance door. The brown tiles on the roof didn’t have a chimney, so the pollution index of this building was certainly better. Then again, I wasn’t a conservationist, so I couldn’t care about it. If pollution destroyed the world, my transmigration magic would help me out. Let the mortals choke on their own bile.

I pushed the springing door that covered the tavern from the waist up and let my lady inside before letting the door swing back into its rightful place. The bustling tavern was hardly a problem, but there was a red mark on my black gloves the men in the guild had placed. Blood, and probably a sign of some sort, because after waiting on one end of the room for a short time, a woman stumbled on us, dressed in a red tunic inside the dingy brown coat. Ale was the only smell I could associate her with, but she didn’t appear wobbly on her feet, and her hawk eyes were too sharp for the deep night.

“Red mounts,” she said, running her scrutinizing gaze over me more than once until my lady clicked her tongue. Darker shades of brown hair and azure eyes weren’t common in the capital. But genetics is as unpredictable as mortals themselves, so I didn’t refrain myself from concluding anything about the woman’s origins. Time would tell, though it never spoke.

“Red mounts,” my lady repeated, pulling me back to garner some distance between us. “And stop ogling, woman.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with something akin to amusement, but she gave us a flat look and asked, “Who sent you?”

“Joane,” I said, earning a confused look.

“Never heard of her,” she shrugged, waiting for me to try again. “I might as well start gambling if I had that kind of patience to remember every damn name. Are you retard, man in the suit?”

Lucky for her, I didn’t take offense, but I pulled my cloak that had come apart to cover my suit underneath.

“Gaiel,” my lady said, gritting her teeth. “That’s her family name. Title conferred by concubine Jia.”

I hadn’t heard anything about it, but I suppose Joane had already assumed that my lady knew it, so she hadn’t briefed on her family lineage. Annoying it was, but I couldn’t refute her logic. Time was precious for them to blurt unnecessary rambling about her lineage.

“Gaiel,” she nodded in approval and led us through the noisy drunkards into the door located right beside the counter, where men lay half-sprawled with their mugs almost empty. “Prince needs our help, and you bring the message.”

It wasn’t a question, and probably her monologue, so I didn’t reply nor my lady, for she was busy accommodating to the darkness persisting in the room. And probably infuriated at the woman. A mana lamp that hung from the ceiling started burning and illuminated the small room. A rectangular table was located right beneath the hanging light, and there were no stools to get comfortable for a bread meal. The table almost reached the lateral walls, but there was ample space to move around the opposite wall.

A hand-drawn map spanned the entire right wall, and I knew at a glance that it was of an Isles. Well, it doesn’t take a clever brain to distinguish land from water, even in paintings. This meant they owned this tavern or at least owned the owner of the tavern. My lady ran her hands along with the map, her hand pausing at the capital Bulka, located almost at the center, away from the coast that had frequent visitors from travelers to mercenaries.

The decrepit door on the opposite wall opened, and the same senile drunkard from the guild entered the room, one sleeve dangling aimlessly beside him. His frail countenance was nowhere in sight, and he shared a look with me, clearly disgusted by my company, for I had dared to look into his eyes.

“Heard of doppelgangers?” he asked as he placed the flat leather flask on the table, separating us. I had heard about it, but my lady hadn’t. “I’m not one.”

Myths about doppelgangers were nothing more than horseshit. It was just some random genetics playing its crafty hands again. Even though I was not a proponent of biology, I had witnessed its growth, so I knew much stuff other than copulation. For instance, why bread dough needed yeast, reasons for the growth of bread mold, ways to increase the shelf life of bread, and the likes.

“He’s the same man from the guild,” I whispered in my lady’s ears as she tugged my cloak. “Doppelgangers are mortals who have the exact same face as you.”

The mortal bounds never apply to the undead. We don’t indulge in such pointless ramifications.

“Now then,” the door opened again, and the same woman stepped inside with a stool. The man patted her shoulder and settled down on the seat. “What brings to you here, loyal subjects of Arlikia?”

“We come here with a message, your grace,” my lady said, her noble decorum befitting the old man’s countenance. He was probably a high-ranked official from the court of Halurath Isles, as he didn’t even spare me a look after the first exchange. Nobles were the same everywhere, and isolated Isles didn’t make any difference. Without my lady, I doubted they would even listen to a commoner’s croaking.

“King of Halurath died three nights ago, and Balar­–“

“Prince Balar, lady,” the man politely pointed out, but his gaze held a dangerous glint.

My lady acquiesced without any grunts, “Prince Balar killed the third prince two days ago before occupying the fortress of the capital Bulka. Lady Gaiel wants you to stop the reinforcement’s requests of the first prince from reaching the capital.”

“Did lady Gaiel brief you on the situation, lady…”

“Letitia Valorat,” my lady said, curtsying fluently.

“Lykan Halurath,” the man caressed his long beard. “Prince of Halurath Isles and the former rightful heir. Keen of you to recognize my rank, lady Letitia.”

“This lady is flattered, your grace,” my lady said politely. That was nobles for you, and I never hoped to reach their ranks any time soon. For me, the old man was just a drunkard who had amputated his limb on one of his drunken stupors. Prince or not didn’t really make a difference.

“To answer your grace,” my lady released her frock that she had been gripping the entire time. “The Halurath mages have factions among them, and more than half of them are already supporting the ascension of the second prince. Until Prince Balar captures the first prince, lady Gaiel doesn’t want assistance reaching anywhere close to the Isles.”

Lykan nodded and whispered something in the woman’s ears, who disappeared from the room. He unlatched the cork of his costrel and took another sip of ale before closing it with the same dangling cork. The string of the costrel twisted around his palm, and he shooed it a couple of times, adding more tangles. The scars of time were evident on the rope even though the leather appeared polished. Displeasure strapped on Letitia’s face earned her a toothless grin which instantly disappeared when his gaze landed on me.

“When did they leave?” Lykan asked, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Three days ago, Your Grace,” my lady said. “We heard it takes around five days to reach the port–“

“That’s under a normal scenario, lady Letitia,” Lykan waved his hand. “They’ll reach here by tomorrow if they left two nights ago. Or tonight in the worst case.”

My lady’s grip on her gown tightened. Sure, the world had played tricks on us again, but somehow, we had managed to stay steadfast and cautious enough. Garlan’s sightseeing had to wait. We had more important things to care about.

“And who is this, lady Valorat?” he asked. The ale dripped from his mouth along with the drool, and he wiped it with the back of his hands. Even if you placed a knife against my throat, I wouldn’t accede to his words that he was a noble. Garlan drank more merrily than this worn-out old stud.

“My mage and my man, your grace,” she said, and I poked her hand from beneath the table. First, I wasn’t a man, so her words weren’t even half true. Second, I was a commoner, and she ought to treat me as one in front of nobility. Then again, she was probably using me to shield any future prospect of her marriage to Balar should he succeed in claiming the throne. After all, some people never forget the favors and the tattered man just appeared to be one among such mortals.

Lykan laughed in his hoarse voice with blatant contempt and rested his chin on his only hand. “A commoner? Moreover, a servant at that? Has Kingdom Arlikia degraded so much, lady Valorat?”

“I don’t know about the Kingdom, your grace,” my lady’s voice turned hard, but Lykan was too drowned in the ale to take a note. “But I don’t intend to align myself with any royal families. And I’m taken.”

“Shame, lady Valorat,” he chugged down another drink from his leather costrel. “Not even noble families would accept you, let alone royals. And here I was thinking about reserving a place for you in the harem. But your favor won’t be met with indifference, lady Valorat. If we manage to avert this crisis, then we will welcome you,” he paused before casting me a scrutinizing look, “and your servant with open hands should you ever visit our capital.”

Taken was synonymous with mortals who had lost virginity prior to marriage. An obvious lie on my lady’s part, but it could help her avoid political marriage with ease. Not many girls preferred to have that tag on their forehead because a wedding to a high-ranked nobility meant a smooth life. That was a much better option even for my lady, but I suppose my lady had decided to throw bread to the wind.

The woman returned at the same time and nodded at Lykan, whose face broke into another toothless grin. He swept his grey hair away from the forehead that was adorned with scars of lashing and tied them to a bun atop his head.

“How strong is your mage?” he asked.

“As strong as I want him to be,” my lady said with pride. Though her voice was monotonous as always, I had grown to understand the subtle changes in her expression.

“Then stealing a ship shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Lykan removed a knife from his tattered robe and cut off his beard with a single hand, letting the white strands fall atop the table. His blithe with a single hand surprised me as much the resolute expression of his face. “A ship, and with it my crew, is at the causeway, and our men are at work at the docks. It’s time we stir some trouble in Achlon after staying low of over a decade.”

“We aren’t sailing–“ I stopped short when my lady stamped my left foot.

“No,” my lady said. “But we have one more companion in Gemulo gambling house, your grace.”

“We’ll get him,” he said and burned the beard on the table with [Hell Flame].

I covered my lady’s mouth with a cloth, immediately watching the small opening at the top meant for ventilation, and the man beckoned us to follow him outside once the putrid smell of volatile sulfur compounds started filling up the room. My lady placed her palm on mine, trying to get rid of the cloth on her face.

“Burnt hair smells real bad, my lady,” I said and heard her mumble something under her breath, but her resistance died down.

We reached a wider room filled with arrays of round barrels of ale and probably some beer added to the mix once we crossed the gates. There was no wine despite the noble lineage of the prince, but I suppose he didn’t really prefer weak poisons. There were sacks of jute, or something similar, sprawled around the corner that wasn’t populated by barrels and various edibles adjacent to them.

My lady elbowed me as I had forgotten to remove my napkin from her mouth, and I smiled at her apologetically. The drunkard prince wasn’t walking straight anymore, and I realized it was his natural gait since he had hurt his leg. We followed him wordlessly outside the final door, back into the bustling streets of the Port.